


Liquor In Our Blood

by Cinderscream



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And the chef, Damien mark and will and great friends, Gen, I wanna think about the world before the bad stuff happened, Just some boys getting drunk, Slight cameo fro. Benjamin the butler, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinderscream/pseuds/Cinderscream
Summary: In which Damien is newly appointed mayor and Will and Mark want to celebrate!





	Liquor In Our Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Amyways I'm still devastated from the ending of wkm so have this

“Oh god, here we go.”

 

William chortles at the butler’s soft groan, dragging liquor from the cabinets and setting it on the table in front of an eager Mark and wide-eyed Damien. He knows he probably shouldn’t get so much, none of them have ever been able to really hold their booze and he can only imagine the massive headache that’ll befall them, but he doesn’t really care, all too ready to celebrate Damien’s new position. 

 

“Will, really, we can’t drink all of that”, Damien protests, trying to stand, possibly to stop Will from gathering more bottles and being held back by Mark. 

 

“Lighten up Dami! We want to give you a special night to remember!” Mark weedles, pinning Damien with his best puppy-eyes. 

 

“Or not remember”, Damien retorts, eyeing the collection of wines and beer in William’s arms. 

 

He settles down though and Mark cheers, greedily reaching for one of the expensive wines William’s putting down on the table. William sits on Damien’s other side, narrowing his eyes at him when he elects to spill some whisky in a small tumbler rather than going for a bottle. He doesn’t argue with him though, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Damien was drunker than either him or Mark (he’s the one who could do the kegstand, after all). 

 

“To our new mayor!” Mark chirps, raising his bottle. 

 

“To old friends!” William adds, clinking his own bottle against his. 

 

They both stare at Damien hopefully, grins too wide to be contained and Damien huffs, unable to stop his own sweet smile. 

 

“To a good night”, he says softly, pressing his glass to theirs. 

 

They drink, Damien downing his whiskey with too much ease for someone who had insisted on keeping the night alcohol-free earlier on. They set their drinks down, letting the burn of them settle in their stomachs, and Mark ruffles Damien’s sleek hair, sending it tumbling in dark, curly waves over his eyes. 

 

“Much better”, he coos, already slurring and William eyes the already half-empty bottle. 

 

He turns back to Damien, who tries to comb his hair back in place with his fingers, and swats his hands away. 

 

“None of that now, it’s time to let loose! Get yourself out of that stuffy suit, Dami, please”, William scolds, tugging at the lapels of Damien’s crisp suit and to his surprise, Damien obliges, pulling off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt a bit, an exasperated gleam shining in his eyes. 

 

Benjamin takes the jacket to put away neatly, for which Damien thanks him, and they go back to their drinks. It’s on his third drink that the world begins to swirl and Damien and Mark’s voices distort, a pleasant buzz filling the space between his ears. He thinks the alcohol’s had its effect on his friends because Damien is hazy eyed (and has stopped using his tumbler) and Mark’s pulling at his arm, begging for a dance. Damien giggles as William drags him out of his chair and the three of them stumble around the dining room, singing off tune like they had in college. Benjamin eyes them from his corner, clutching Damien’s jacket in an attempt to stop himself from reaching out and stopping them from bumping around the room. 

 

“Should I perhaps help them?” he asks the chef, concerned by how close Damien is to falling off the table, cheered on by Mark and William to chug one of the bigger bottles. 

 

“It’ll be funnier if you don’t”, the chef snorts, pushing by on his way towards his room and just barely dodging Damien’s flung mayor’s pin. 

 

The three somehow free themselves from the dining room and spill into the foyer, Mark leaning heavily on William’s shoulder, Damien carried between the both of them. William trips and all they all tumble down in a tangle of limbs, baritone laughter mixing with groans of pain. 

 

“I gotta, got to. I gotta go to the little boy’s room”, Mark whuffs as he squeezes himself from under William and Damien and scrambling to the stairs. Damien whines as he leaves, left alone to deal with William’s sudden need to tickle him. He manages to scurry away and William chases after him, giggles and squeaking footsteps filling the manor. Damien’s hair is nothing like the neat slickness of earlier, instead a floofing mass of dark hair, flowers somehow finding their way into his dark curls. 

 

Their merriment is pulled to stop when they hear a harsh thump near the stairs. Minds still somewhat scrambled with booze, they stumble over to see what had fallen. 

 

“Mark? Did you drop another vase from the balcony again?” William calls, but quiets when he finds Mark limp on the ground, limbs akimbo. 

 

“Silly boy fell asleep on the floor”, William chuffs, hardly registering that Mark’s wearing a red robe instead of the blue shirt from earlier. 

 

“His eyes are open”, Damien’s soft voice filters into his ears and William spins around, to find Damien not there. He’s suddenly very sober and his breathing heightens, the fuzz of the alcohol burned away by fear. 

 

“William”, says Damien’s voice and William finds himself at the top of the stairs by the balcony, Damien at his side. Gone is the loose, carefree Damien he’d been having drinks with, replaced with Mayor Damon, hair shiny and neat and void of flowers, black tuxedo pristine, brown eyes colder than William’s ever seen them. 

 

And then there’s a gunshot, and Damien’s falling, betrayal scrunching his sharp features. William doesn’t know where the gun in his hand came from but he drops it, rushes down the stairs (where’d Mark’s body go?) and stumbles to halt when he can’t find Damien. 

 

“You let this happen”, hums a voice (two voices? three?)

  
And Wilford jumps awake, hair clinging in clumps to face with sweat, chest heaving with breaths. The dream’s already fading, leaving only a acrid taste in his mouth and the name Damien echoing in his head. 


End file.
